“Fuck, I’m sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea,” he says.
I should get off his lap and roll down the window to let in fresh air. I should tell him to stop. But I’m tired of worrying. I’ve been tiptoeing on eggshells around him for weeks. I’m ready to surrender to this inextricable pull between us.
“No. I like it.”
I swing my leg over his lap to straddle him, and he lets out a rough exhale.
He grips me by the back of my neck and pulls me down toward him until our foreheads touch.
“Yeah? Want more?”
I bite my lip and nod.
He tilts his head up and kisses me. His lips are wet and swollen as he slides my lower lip between them in a slow drag, replacing my moisture with his own.
Connor. Masters. Kissed me. We’ve never kissed before—not beyond the friendly cheek or forehead peck. Not even during spin the bottle, as much as I tried to orchestrate that outcome.
I freeze, staring at him wide-eyed. His eyes sear back into mine. Then I chase after his lips and kiss him like I’ve dreamed of doing. Licking the inside of his mouth, tasting his tongue with mine, sucking that plump lower lip between mine until his skin releases with a quiet pop.
I pin him to the seat and ride his lap, grinding myself against him.
“Fuck, Birdy.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
It’s wet and sloppy and perfect.
“Connor—”
His hands slide up my thighs to my ass and squeeze.
I dive into the crook of his neck like a vampire going for a bite and trace his scent gland with my tongue.
Connor groans. His grip on my hips tightens painfully, and he pulls me down into his lap and grinds up into my core. We move together like that, rolling our hips into each other. His erection is huge and insistent behind the zipper of his jeans. Just one bad decision away.
Part of me has longed for this kind of closeness and connection with Connor for the last four years. This is how we could’ve been.
Connor huffs against my skin.
His erection pushes against my clit as he grinds against me. I chase the sensation, rocking against him, seeking more pressure. More slick slips into my panties, and his grip tightens.
“Don’t stop,” I groan into his ear.
“Fuck, Lana. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Connor’s hands still my hips, and he clenches his eyes shut.
“We have to stop, or I’m going to fuck you in my car. Is that what you want?”
Slick trickles between my legs.
Connor’s eyes flare.
“I—”
My hands dive for his jeans, jerking the button open and working the zipper down. His cock pulses beneath the fabric.
